


December 9: Gift

by fearfully_beautifully_made



Series: December (Christmas) Challenge [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bottom Sherlock Holmes, Christmas, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, John Watson Loves Sherlock Holmes, M/M, Parentlock, Sherlock Holmes Loves Dogs, Sherlock Holmes Loves John Watson, Top John, Wall Sex, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-24
Updated: 2019-03-24
Packaged: 2019-11-29 03:55:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18217856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fearfully_beautifully_made/pseuds/fearfully_beautifully_made
Summary: Rosie Watson has two things on her Christmas list to Santa: A Baby Brother and A Dog.Sherlock also wants a dog but John doesn’t because he’s pretty sure he’d end up doing all of the work. Sherlock pouts and John tries to cheer him up.(And in the end there is a fantastic Christmas gift.)





	December 9: Gift

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so this work was written in December but I am just getting around to some editing. So, if you’re in the mood for a little fluffy-Christmasy goodness in March, you’re in the right place. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy.

There were exactly two things on Rosie Watson’s Christmas list. 

Sherlock rapped his forefingers together thoughtfully as he stared at her letter to Santa and tried to figure out how they could give their four year old even one of the things she wanted for Christmas. 

He heard John’s footsteps on the stairs behind him and turned as John brushed past him on his way to the fridge. 

“She’s tried to mail her letter to Santa.” Sherlock says pointedly to John, “I promised I’d get it out in the mail for her.”

“Great,” John said, glancing over his shoulder with a grin as the kettle Sherlock had put on clicked off and he starts seeping tea bags. “She keeps telling me useless things like a unicorn, a magic wand, and a treehouse.”

“These are worse, I’m afraid,” Sherlock says with a grimace. 

“How can they be worse?” John asks, snatching the letter out of Sherlock’s hands. “A baby brother or sister? Or a dog? That’s all she’s got?”

“Maybe she’s lonely,” Sherlock reasons, as he switches places with John to pour their tea. 

“How can she be lonely? She’s always got one of us around, she’s with Mrs Hudson all the time. Molly and Greg stop round at least twice a week. The child never has a moment to herself.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes and hands John his cup of tea, “Maybe she wants someone closer to her own age.”

John rubs his eyes as he carries his cup of tea over to his chair and plops down in it. 

Sherlock follows along behind and sits in his chair across from John’s, stretching his feet out to brush against John’s calves. “So, since the sibling bit is pretty much out of the question...” Sherlock trails off meaningfully.

“The answer is still no, Sherlock,” John says. “We’re not getting a puppy. I know you love dogs, and I know Rosie thinks she wants a dog, but it would end up being my dog. It would end up being my responsibility to train it, to take it for walks at 3 am, to feed it, and whatever else it takes to raise a puppy. The two of you would just play with it and cuddle it and I would always have to be the bad guy.”

“But John,” Sherlock starts, “I promise-“

“We’ve been through this. What was the deal?” John prompts.

Sherlock huffs, “If I can hoover the flat each day for a month we can get a dog.”

“And have you?”

“No, but it’s not-“

“It is,” John insists. “It’s the same amount of dedication and will power, more even, to take care of a puppy.”

Sherlock sighs, “Well, what are we going to tell Watson?” he asks petulantly as he scuffs his toe against the carpet. 

John shrugs, “She’s four Sherlock. At this point it’s a non-issue. We’ll get her some lovely new toys and she’ll be happy.” John finishes the last of his tea, “Come on, love. You ready for bed?”

Sherlock pouts at him, he can’t help it, he wants a dog so badly sometimes his chest aches. “You go ahead.”

John stands and saunters over to him, “I know what’ll wipe that pout off your face.” He grins lasciviously and leans down toward Sherlock, resting his hands on Sherlock’s armrests. 

“I’m not in the mood,” Sherlock lies, stubbornly crossing his arms over his chest.

“Is that so?” John murmurs, breath ghostly across Sherlock’s neck as his lips hover over his skin, the most sensitive place on his neck, just below his ear. His mind supplies exactly what it would feel like for John to kiss him there. 

“Yes,” Sherlock says, his voice coming out breathier than he’d intended. 

“There are different parts of your anatomy that disagree with you,” John says, with a pointed look at Sherlock’s trousers.

“Yes, well,” he says, swallowing and tilting his head back as John’s lips brush over his carotid. 

“I can make it up to you,” John whispers, his hands slip down off the armrests and brush over Sherlock’s thighs.

“I don’t think you can.”

“I can be very persuasive,” John murmurs, as his thumbs trail along the v of Sherlock’s pelvis. 

“You can try.”

He feels John grin against his neck before he’s pulling back and dragging Sherlock from his chair and into their bedroom.

John presses Sherlock back against the wall as he divests him of his shirt and trousers. He moans as John’s tongue slicks along his bottom lip before pressing into his mouth. He loves it when John pushes him up against walls and the man knows it. 

He man grasps his curls and tugs his head back, baring Sherlock’s throat to his lips and teeth. John works his mouth expertly over Sherlock’s flesh; applying just the right amount of pressure and suction, lingering in the places he knows Sherlock likes best. 

After a moment, not nearly long enough in Sherlock’s opinion, John pulls back, his hair is slightly mussed from Sherlock’s fingers, a cocky grin on his lips that makes Sherlock weak in the knees. “Don’t move,” he commands, pressing his finger to Sherlock’s chest for emphasis, before he turns and walks away with all the confidence in the world that Sherlock won’t move (because he won’t). 

He comes back a moment later, waving a bottle of lube in his fingers. 

Sherlock wants to moan, truly he does, he loves it when John prepares him while he’s still standing. He loves the way his knees go weak and he has to cling to John to stay upright. The thought of it does funny things to the pit of his stomach. 

John smirks at him, as though he knows exactly what he’s thinking, and Sherlock swallows back the moan stubbornly, unwilling to give John the satisfaction. 

This seems to only make John’s grin wider. He presses Sherlock back against the wall and flicks his tongue against the shell of Sherlock’s ear. “It’s alright,” he murmurs hotly against his wet flesh, “You can hold back your moans as long as you like. In the end I know you’ll be begging me to let you come and screaming my name.”

Sherlock’s jaw drops at the thought of that, although he does narrowly avoid whimpering by squeezing his eyes closed and concentrating very hard. 

John’s clever fingers slip inside of Sherlock’s pants and he casually strokes his shaft, “You’re awfully hard to be uninterested,” John murmurs before he bites down gently on Sherlock’s earlobe. “Let’s get you out of these pants, hmm? They must be starting to get a little uncomfortable.”

Sherlock bites his lower lip as John teases his pants down over his bottom then his thighs. John kneels at his feet to help him step out and Sherlock uses John’s shoulders to balance himself. 

“Well, hello there,” John growls throatily as he turns his head and catches Sherlock’s erection between his lips. 

“Oh,” Sherlock whimpers as John sucks lightly at the head, humming greedily at the taste of his precome. 

John bobs his head and sucks teasingly at Sherlock’s cock and Sherlock threads his fingers loosely through John’s soft hair. John groans and swallows him down, sinking down until his nose brushes against Sherlock’s groin and Sherlock lets out a wailing moan. 

He continues this way for a long time until he feels Sherlock’s thighs trembling under his palms, then he draws back, much to Sherlock’s dismay, and stands once more. He pulls his jumper off over his head before shucking his trousers and pants. Then John steps up to Sherlock and presses him against the wall, he catches Sherlock’s wrists in his and molds them to the wall beside his head as he kisses him deeply. 

Sherlock moans breathily at the feeling of his cock pressing against John’s tummy and John’s hard cock pressing against his thigh. 

“Do you want me, darling?” John murmurs hotly against Sherlock’s neck. “Or are you still feeling stroppy?”

“I wasn’t having a strop!” Sherlock replies indignantly. 

John pulls back and raises an eyebrow at him. 

“I wasn’t!” Sherlock protests. “I’m serious about that issue, as well you know.”

“I do know,” John murmurs, but a lubed finger is sliding between Sherlock’s buttocks and pressing teasingly at his entrance and Sherlock loses that train of thought because he’s too busy wondering when John managed to get lube on his fingers. 

John slides his first finger in and Sherlock widens his stance a bit to give him more room to maneuver. 

“Wrap your right leg around my hip,” John instructs him. 

It takes a little bit of squirming but Sherlock manages it. He has to sink down a bit and use the wall to support him, but John’s pinned his hips against the wall with his body so Sherlock isn’t afraid of falling. 

“That’s it,” John murmurs as his finger starts to glide in and out more easily. “Open for me, sweetheart.”

Sherlock groans and his hips buck of their own will, trying to press John deeper. John thrusts in and out, circling around his rim before delving in again. He teases Sherlock until he’s panting and all but writhing against John. 

“Beautiful,” John encourages as he presses his middle finger against Sherlock’s hole and slides it in beside his first finger. 

The stretch and slight burn is exquisite and Sherlock can’t help but whine as John teases him, moving his fingers in and out slowly and staying a hair's breadth away from his prostate. 

He continues like that, teasing and stroking Sherlock’s inner walls, stretching his rim as he scissors his fingers, but never quite managing to touch Sherlock’s prostate. It’s no accident. John Watson has excellent aim and he knows exactly what he doing. 

Finally Sherlock can’t stand it anymore, “Please, John!” he begs. His thighs are shaking with the effort it’s taking to hold himself up. “Please!”

John grins against his neck and brushes his fingers featherlight over Sherlock’s prostate. The muscles in his stomach spasm and he lets out a loud moan, his cock leaks precome on John’s belly. 

“You’re so wet,” John groans. “I love when your cock just weeps for attention. Fuck your beautiful.”

Sherlock moans and drops his head to John’s shoulder, wrapping his leg tighter around John’s waist. 

As John brushes over his prostate again he presses his third finger inside, stretching Sherlock’s hole wide around his fingers. 

“Fuck,” Sherlock moans. “Yes, John. Open me.”

“Fuck Sherlock,” John curses and he scissors his fingers, stretching and relaxing his hole. More of Sherlock’s weight slumps onto John, as his leg refuses to cooperate to keep him standing. He shudders as John brushes his fingers in a broad sweep over his prostate.

Then he pulls his fingers out and his other hand grabs the back of Sherlock’s thigh that’s still on the ground and he lifts him up. 

Sherlock all but keens, his cock is throbbing at the display of strength. “John,” he moans, ridiculously in love with this man, and then he’s crying out for a different reason entirely as John lines his cock up with Sherlock’s hole and presses inside. 

The weight of gravity forces Sherlock down John’s cock and he cries out as his body spreads even wider to accommodate John’s girth. “Yes,” he moans. “John. You feel incredible. Fuck me,” he groans. 

“Your wish is my command,” John grunts as he starts rolling his hips, “You feel good,” he groans. “So hot and tight around my cock.”

“Yes,” he whimpers. “Harder. Fuck me harder, John,” he begs, undulating his hips to try to get John’s cock to rub his prostate.

John pins him to the wall with his hips briefly to adjust the angle Sherlock’s hips with his hands, and then he’s pounding into Sherlock. Fucking him with a fervor that Sherlock loves, driving his hard, gorgeous cock into his prostate over and over again. 

Sherlock’s nails claw at John’s back and neck, he can scarcely comprehend the moaning, and whimpering, and begging escaping his lips. Then John’s hand starts to move over his cock, fast and hard and amazing, and before he knows what’s hit him he’s coming, crying out John’s name as John empties himself inside of him. 

They stay locked together for a long moment before John wraps one arm around Sherlock’s back and secures the other under his arse. He staggers the four paces from the wall to the bed where he deposits Sherlock before collapsing next to him. 

When he’s caught his breath, John leans over and pulls a baby wipe out of the nightstand to clean Sherlock up. 

Sherlock yawns around a pleased hum. John drops a kiss to his forehead and murmurs, “I love you, madman.”

“I love you, too,” Sherlock replies as they settle under the covers for sleep. “But John?”

“Yes, love?”

“I still want a dog.”  
  


————————-

_ Christmas Day _

Sherlock is awoken roughly from his slumber as something heavy is dropped on his chest. His eyes fly open and a garbled word of alarm comes out. 

“Daddy! Papa! It’s Christmas!” A small voice shouts.

The weight moves from his chest and John groans beside him and glances at his phone screen, “Rosie, it’s 5 am.”

“Santa’s come!” she squeals.

“Too right,” Sherlock says, sitting up and pulling Rosie off of John and into his lap. “Give us a kiss, then we’ll go and see what he’s brought for you.”

Obligingly Rosie leans up and pecks a kiss to his cheek which he returns, “Happy Christmas, bee.”

“Happy Christmas, papa.”

“What about me then?” John asks.

Sherlock and Rosie both lean down and kiss opposite cheeks, “Happy Christmas,” they chorus.

“Right, Happy Christmas.” John replies with a fond smile.  “You two go up and get some socks for little Miss’s feet, and Rosie brush your teeth. I’m going to go get some coffee on and make you a bit of hot chocolate. What do you say?”

Rosie nods enthusiastically and Sherlock chases her up the stairs. When they make it down, Rosie’s socks are mismatched and she’s got a bit of toothpaste on her face, but Sherlock’s managed to tame her wild blond curls a bit since he knows they’ll be taking dozens of pictures. 

The morning unfolds with much joy and squealing as Rosie opens over a dozen presents from her dads. They leave presents to and from Greg, Molly, Mrs. Hudson, and Mycroft until later when everyone will be over for dinner. 

When she’s finished and contentedly playing with her toys, John says, “Oh, silly daddy, I’ve forgotten something. I’ve one more present for you and for papa, if you think you can share, Rosie.” 

Sherlock looks up sharply at John, there’s nothing left they haven’t given her. He ticks off the mental list, sure he’s forgotten nothing.

John smile widens as Rosie claps and Sherlock’s look of bewilderment grows. He goes out to the kitchen and opens the bottom cupboard where they keep their pots and pans, Sherlock cocks an eyebrow at him. John pulls out a present about 2 feet high, by 2 feet wide, by 3 feet long and balances it carefully as he brings it over to them. He sets it down between them and nods towards it.

“Shall we open it together, then, bee?” Sherlock asks as he reads the tag  _ To: Rosie and Papa, From: Daddy _

“Yes!” 

Sherlock reaches for the paper, his hand quivering with anticipation and Rosie starts to tear at her side. Half of the paper’s been pulled off when he realizes what he’s opening. 

“A puppy!” Rosie cries with absolute utter delight.

It’s not, strictly speaking, a puppy. She looks to be full grown, a mut with tan fur and a black snout. His best guess at breed would be a cross between a pug and chihuahua. Sherlock freezes as Rosie figures out the latch and the dog comes scrambling out, jumping on Rosie’s lap and licking her face, to Rosie’s joy.

Then the dog is squirming away to climb on Sherlock. Without thought Sherlock wraps her in his arms, pressing kisses to her soft head, “Hello, little one,” he murmurs. The dog is wagging it’s tail so hard her entire body is wiggling with it. Sherlock falls in love with her instantly.

When he looks up at John, the other man is blurry and Sherlock can’t quite understand why. 

“Oh, love,” John murmurs softly. 

The dog wiggles out of Sherlock’s arms and bounds over to Rosie who holds out a toy to her.

John kneels in front of him and his fingers spread liquid across Sherlock’s cheeks.

“John?” Sherlock asks, looking up at him, feeling lost and found all at once.

John presses a kiss to his forehead, “Happy Christmas, love.”

“We’re keeping her?” Sherlock asks, looking over at the tree where Rosie is rolling around on the floor with the dog.

“If you like her,” John replies.

“Like her?” Sherlock asks just as she trots over to them bringing Rosie in her wake. Sherlock reaches out, his hands trembling and lifts her into his arms and she snuggles in under his chin. “She’s perfect,” he whispers, his eyes filling with tears once more.

John gives the dog a fond pat, even as she decides that she’s had enough of being held and wants to sniff around the flat. “Then, yes.”

Sherlock looks up at him, “I don’t understand. You said no puppy.”

“I did,” John affirms, brushing back his curls.

“But she’s here,” he says gesturing to the dog. “You have tells when you lie. You weren’t lying.”

“I wasn’t,” John agrees.

“Then why?”

“She’s not a puppy, Sherlock. She’s a year old, she’s house trained, crate trained, she doesn’t tear things up, she sleeps through the night. Her foster family says she spends most of the day sleeping and lazing about; she’s gentle and good with kids and people. She’s a perfect fit for us.”

“John,” Sherlock whispers, looking up through his tears once more.

“Come here, you git,” John says fondly, drawing Sherlock to his feet. John wraps him in his arms and Sherlock presses their foreheads together.

“Thank you,” Sherlock whispers.

“You’re welcome, love.”

“You won’t regret it,” Sherlock promises. “I’ll take her for walks, and I’ll feed her, I’ll be a great dog parent, I promise.”

“I know,” John replies. “It’ll be good for Rosie, too,” John says and Sherlock follows his gaze to Rosie who is hugging the dog to her chest while she licks Rosie’s face and she giggles. “Never too young to start learning to take care of people and animals.”

“I feel awful, you know,” Sherlock says.

“What?” John asks, pulling back from the other man with a concerned frown. “Why?”

“Because I bought you a new watch and you got me the gift I’ve wanted more than anything my whole life.”

“This is what I’ve wanted my whole life, too,” John says softly.

“What? A weepy boyfriend, a dog you didn’t want, and a child?” Sherlock asks incredulously.

“No,” John says softly, pressing a kiss to Sherlock’s temple, “A real family.”


End file.
